


An Intellectual Challenge

by Aeriel



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, POV First Person, Past Relationship(s), Referenced Past Sexual Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-19 02:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22670515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeriel/pseuds/Aeriel
Summary: There may be stranger places to encounter a former patron than over the cradle of one’s future sovereign, but on my life I am hard-pressed to think of one.
Relationships: Alcuin nó Delaunay/Barquiel L'Envers
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	An Intellectual Challenge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lightningwaltz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/gifts).



“Alcuin nó Delaunay. I see my niece has truly spared no expense in inviting every peer of the realm to little Sidonie’s first birthday fête.” Barquiel L’Envers raised his brows at me before pulling up the blanket higher on the baby, who was fussing.

There may be stranger places to encounter a former patron than over the cradle of one’s future sovereign, but on my life I am hard-pressed to think of one. 

“I assure you there’s no need to worry about the royal purse,” I replied. “I came at Ysandre’s request, and have accommodations of my own.”

“From Alba, I hear.”

I smiled. “Yes.” 

In this time of peace, and without a need to find gainful employment after Phèdre and I had inherited Montrève, I had found fulfillment by traveling through Alba and Eire recording oral histories and legends. It was, at times, lonely work, but it pleased me. 

“And I take it you haven’t brought home a lovely Alban boy or girl to grace your bedchamber.”

A coldness ran down my spine, washing away the warmth of remembered song and laughter. “No,” I said, as evenly as I could manage. “Nor am I in the market for such companionship here.”

Barquiel had only asked Anafiel for me once, and I had considered it a personal failing as I received no worthwhile intelligence nor any further requests which might have persuaded him to loosen his tongue. 

“Pity,” Barquiel said idly, running his knuckles over the edge of Sidonie’s crib that lay between us, and it occurred to me that perhaps the reason he had never made further pursuit of my company was that he thought it all too likely he wouldn’t resist the temptation to let something slip on our next encounter.

Of course, as it had happened, our next encounter involved my telling him which of the Stregazza had murdered Isabel, and by then I was neither of the disposition nor the inclination to accept another assignation. 

I frowned. “I need neither your judgement nor your pity.” 

Barquiel smiled, with the contemptuous air of one who never makes apologies. “What you need is not appropriate for me to say in this setting, I think.”

Barquiel L’Envers had been an odd patron, plying me with drink and studying me while we both studiously avoided serious topics for so long that I had begun to wonder if he wanted to have me at all. 

When his jabs cut too sharply, as I recall I stood, telling him that if he wanted to hurt someone he should have paid for Phèdre’s services instead. 

For some reason it had made him laugh, infuriating me further. 

_“I doubt you’re a fraction as sensitive as you look, lad, or Delaunay would never let you out of his household unsupervised.”_

_“It’s not a matter of sensitivity, it’s a matter of common courtesy. I did not come here to be degraded.”_ Not in that particular way, at least. 

_“Oh? Would you rather I whisper insincere little nothings like Vitale Bouvarre?”_

I recall I could not repress a shudder of revulsion at that, which I saw him take note of. Knowing I had just confirmed a less than discreet piece of information about myself made me angrier, which in turn made me stubborn.

I was never gifted at sensing a patron’s desire as Phèdre was, but then usually my patrons’ wants were simple enough not to require divining in the way Barquiel did.

If he did not ask for Phèdre, there must be a reason, I recall having thought. 

And that was the moment when I decided to take control.

Remembering that night, I allowed myself some sharpness in my retort. “And you? What does Barquiel L’Envers need, then?”

A cloud passed over his face. “Nothing that the living can give that I don’t already possess.”

His words struck a chord with me, loath as I was to admit it. And damn the man, he saw it, even though I could not have let my reaction show for more than a fraction of a moment. 

“I’d suggest we toast to the dead,” Barquiel said, with a touch of irony, “but I suspect my niece would not approve on this occasion.”

I smiled wryly. “Another time, perhaps.”

I remembered him lying beneath me, those violet eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure. At the time I had noted it with detachment, preferring to focus on other things, but in retrospect I had not been entirely displeased. 

Sidonie let out a screech and Ysandre hurried over, followed at a slower pace by Phèdre, with whom she had been conversing. 

I stepped back though Barquiel continued to hover, or perhaps protectively loom, and Phèdre joined my side. 

“He’s patient with babes,” Phèdre observed. “Not what I expected.”

“Well, she is his grand-niece. Somehow I doubt he would be so patient with a crying child at the market.”

She scoffed. “Can you see him at the market? _I_ can’t.”

I laughed. 

Once Sidonie had been put to bed, most of the party dispersed, but Phèdre and I lingered in separate corners, she taken up with a bronze-haired woman I had not seen before, and I in pleasant conversation with proud father Drustan and then Thelesis de Mornay, both of whom were highly interested in my recent work. 

And then Barquiel circled back to me. 

“Still here? You must enjoy these functions. Or else you are waiting for Phèdre nó Delaunay to grow bored.” He glanced pointedly at Phèdre and the woman. “Nicola was certainly pleased to make her acquaintance.”

“Nicola?” I frowned, the name sparking a memory of the L’Envers family tree. “Of your house? Married into Aragonia.”

“Very good.” Barquiel flashed a wolfish grin at me. “Nicola won’t be long in Terre d’Ange, but I thought it would amuse her to meet a genuine _anguisette_ before she goes back to her wastrel husband.”

Something in his manner galled me. “Phèdre is a great deal more than a curiosity on display, my lord.”

“I’m well aware.” His grin faded. “There is still no word of Melisande Shahrizai.”

It had been years, and the name still twisted rage in the pit of my stomach. When I closed my eyes, I could see him still, bloody and trembling with the last flickers of life as he gazed past me, seeing not the one who held him close but—

“You despise her too.” A statement, not a question. “I thought as much.”

“Melisande.” The name was a jagged rock in my mouth. “Not Phèdre. _Never_ Phèdre.”

Barquiel shook his head. “She was the woman’s plaything. The whole court knows it.”

I eyed Barquiel with all the contempt I could muster. “She betrayed Phèdre, along with Terre d’Ange. You do not begin to understand how deeply. Phèdre would never turn traitor, for her or anyone.”

“Good.” Barquiel’s hand gripped my shoulder. “Because I have no wish to tangle with either of you, but know that if I must—”

“Alcuin. Uncle.” Ysandre joined us, looking tired but happy. “I did not think to find you together.”

I smiled blandly. “It is a sight you will hardly need to get used to, so long as His Grace persists in his suspicions.”

Ysandre looked torn between exasperation and amusement. “Uncle, this is a joyous occasion. And I trust all who are here.”

“You trust too many.”

“Be that as it may, for the moment we are all safe and unharmed,” Ysandre said calmly. “And I will remind you once again that Alcuin and Phèdre have rendered invaluable services to this country.”

“I need no reminder.” Barquiel glanced at me, his hand unaccountably still lingering. “Nor have I forgotten who told me of the candied figs.”

Ysandre’s brow creased slightly, but if she recognized the method of her mother’s murder, she did not let it show.

“Then my lord would do well to look for enemies in another quarter,” I said softly. 

“Perhaps.” I felt the weight of his ringed hand leave my shoulder, and was more at ease for its loss, if not precisely satisfied. 

There was something strangely engaging in Barquiel’s thrusts and parries, for all the danger he was capable of. It had been some time since I had been put on my toes thus. 

While I had rarely enjoyed being a servant of Naamah, betimes I had found it thrilling to be a spy.

Perhaps that was why, just as Ysandre was beginning to smile, I turned back to Barquiel. 

“If my lord wishes further entertainment, I am sure we would be happy to receive you at Montrève.”

He snorted. “You would invite me to Phèdre no Delaunay and the Cassiline’s estate?”

“Technically, my lord,” I smiled, “it is mine.”

Phèdre’s jaw dropped when I told her afterwards, but she was not entirely appalled, I think. 

“And he accepted?”

“He did not say no, so he is considering it.”

She smiled, tugging on a loose strand of my hair before brushing it back into place. “Only back with us a few days and you’re already causing a stir. And here I thought you were missing Alba!”

I smiled back. “I am adjusting.”

“Without question.” A wry expression crossed Phèdre’s face. “But why Barquiel, in Elua’s name? Joscelin certainly won’t like it.”

“We are unlikely to meet many people in the City that Joscelin likes,” I pointed out. “Besides, I happen to think our ultimate goals align with those of House L’Envers.”

“Probably true,” Phèdre conceded, on at least the first count. “So it’s information you’re after.”

“Partially.” I glanced out the window of the carriage, recalling that Barquiel had never kissed me. I wondered under what circumstances he would consider it. And then again, under what conditions I might allow it. 

“Oh, I see.” When I turned back to her, Phèdre’s eyes were alight with wickedness. 

“You don’t,” I said, a bit too quickly. 

She laughed. “Oh, don’t I? I underestimated you, Alcuin! I thought for sure you’d find a lovely poet in your travels and settle down. Instead I see you chasing danger again.”

 _I had a lovely poet, though he never wrote a word for me,_ I did not say. 

Instead I raised my eyebrows at her. “Sometimes we surprise ourselves. Look at you and Joscelin.”

Phèdre shook her head, but there was a smile on her face as she leaned on my shoulder and twined her fingers in mine. “Well, I wish you luck. And if L’Envers accepts your invitation…”

“Well,” I smiled. “Then we shall see.”


End file.
